When I first started working here, I was so surprised by the colors. Every hallway has a specific color, so that if you're familiar enough with the building, you can know where you are just by seeing the colors and patterns on the walls, or the floor. Part of being a children's hospital, I suppose. Today I was standing in a yellow hallway, which is on the surgery floor, and got on the elevator to go down.
At the last moment, a tall man in blue scrubs stepped across the path of the closing door - a moment of excitement, of tension that dissipated as soon as he'd made it in. We waited, each in our own world. The elevator went down, picked up another passenger. The big man greeted him, but I didn't even look. The doors closed. The elevator kept moving down. When the doors opened again and we went to exit, the big man stopped himself, bent gracefully forward and said, "After you." Embarrassed, I complied. He reached the door to the public area of the hospital before I did, and once again gracefully opened the door.
"Thank you!" I said, startled into speech, now even more embarrassed even though I'd meant it, even though I'd wanted him to feel seen and appreciated. Why was I making meaningful contact with a stranger in the hallway? "I'm southern," he said with a smile in his voice, "sorry." Now that I'd started talking, my voice seemed to keep going without me. "You are!" I affirmed. And then, suddenly, we were in a conversation. "Where are you from?" "Not this country! Spain." I said, lagging behind him, hoping the interaction would end, still not comfortable saying my thoughts out loud. He continued the conversational thread, the words sticking us together in a way my body language couldn't fix. I gave up and caught up with him.
I learned he was from a smaller city nearby, we swapped complaints about traffic, and he asked what my job at the hospital was. "Interpreter," I told him. "My name's Earnest," he said, offering to shake hands. I shook and said, "Nice to meet you," forgetting my own name, as I recently have been. So he followed up. "What's yours?" I told him, and we parted ways at the gift shop, as he explained he was on a mission to get some chocolate.
I kept walking in the same direction we'd been going, still riding the current of that walking chit-chat, gradually slowing down and coming back to myself.
And this is what it's like to be an introvert. At least, it happens a lot that your environment overwhelms and sweeps you up without your permission, and it's uncomfortable. For some people, an interaction like I just described wouldn't faze them at all. On the contrary, it would be an enjoyable part of a normal day to chit chat with many people as they go about their daily business.
And I won't say I didn't enjoy talking to Earnest, because I definitely felt happy afterward, but it required all the resources of my attention and energy to connect with him in that 1-2 minute span, plus some emotional management because I felt so many different things. Which is fine when you're not overtaxed, or trying to think about something else, but can be grueling if you are. It's a difficult balance. People often think that introverts don't like being around people, but that's not the case. Everyone needs people. But finding a good balance between connecting with people and not allowing yourself to be too overwhelmed is challenging, and something I find isn't often understood or supported by the world around us.
So anyway. I wanted to reflect on that feeling of being swept up in a bit of small talk with a stranger, and then coming back to earth again. I do appreciate his being willing to connect.
Happy Thursday, y'all!
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